


May I

by idancewiththefairies



Series: Post-war ficlets [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff with a hint of angst, M/M, Ron and Hermione's wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27917845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idancewiththefairies/pseuds/idancewiththefairies
Summary: Harry feels sad, Draco reminds him that he is loved.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Post-war ficlets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864417
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	May I

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Позволишь ли мне...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29756445) by [Iritena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iritena/pseuds/Iritena)



_May I hold you as you fall to sleep_   
_When the world is closing in_   
_And you can't breathe here_   
_May I love you, may I be your shield_   
_When no one can be found_   
_May I lay you down_

_May I – Trading Yesterday_

The wedding had gone perfectly, full of wide smiles, laughter, some tears, but mostly an overwhelming sense of love and family. Harry couldn’t have been happier watching his two best friends commit themselves to each other. He had grinned across the aisle at Ginny, having found a comfortable friendship settle between them as they’d helped plan this wedding, sure in the knowledge that their relationship was all the better for now being entirely platonic and familial. He had danced with Ron and Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Neville, a particularly flirtatious dance with George that had them both laughing until they nearly cried, a sweet dance with Molly at the end of which Harry wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly, trying to convey with the gesture all the love and gratitude he felt at having always been so readily made a part of this mad and warm family.

But now the night was drawing towards a close. Many guests had already left, and those who remained were lounging in small groups in a sleepy and contented stupor. Harry sat alone at a table, watching Ron and Hermione sway together on the dancefloor, lost in their own world of each other. And Harry feels inexplicably sad and lonely. He hates that he feels this way. He’s happy for his friends, he honestly genuinely is. And he knows they’re not going anywhere, he knows they love him, he knows there will always be a place for him in their lives, in their family. But he’s not sure he’ll ever escape the feeling that it’s only a matter of time before he loses the people he loves, one way or another. He may have his found family, and his friendships, but never anything, anyone, that’s his, truly and completely. And he worries that he’s too broken and bruised and unused to such a thing that he will never be able to have that.

Harry is drawn out of his melancholic daze when Draco slips into the seat next to his, placing down two smoking glasses of firewhisky.

‘I thought you’d left.’

‘Mm, I did for a while. Had to help get Teddy to bed in one piece. Mother and Aunt Meda had a bit too much to drink.’ Draco replies with an easy smile.

Everything between him and Draco is surprisingly easy these days. They seem to have found a quiet companionship over dinners at Andromeda’s and teaching Teddy how to fly. There’s a lot they probably should have talked about, but also none of it needs saying at all. Two children, now young men, who never really had a choice about their paths in life. Who faced down things far more evil and terrifying than their petty dislike of one another. So, they’re friends, he supposes. All of them very quickly found a tentative but ready friendship, all of the children of war, regardless of allegiance or history. They rebuilt their school, a symbolic union, piecing together the torn fabric of their shared home that a war none of them wanted had forced them to tear apart. They had all lost friends, family, classmates. No one had been unscathed and so everyone was welcome to make communion, to be part of a more hopeful future.

Harry turns back to the view of his best friends, dancing in each other’s arms. Yes, they had all lost people they had cared for, loved. But Harry had lost himself, and sometimes he wondered if all of him had really returned from the platform at Kings Cross that night, or if he was just a shadow of himself, a body walking about only half-alive whilst his soul has already passed over.

‘Sickle for your thoughts?’ Harry glances back at Draco, who looks at him with a gentle understanding in his grey eyes.

Harry sighs, ‘No, I’m just being an idiot.’

Draco rolls his eyes, ‘Potter, I know you’re an idiot, but even idiots are allowed to have feelings.’

‘Doesn’t mean I have to talk about them.’

‘By all means, repress away…’

Harry sighs again, ‘Do you ever just feel like, after everything that’s happened… I don’t know, incapable of love? Of being loved? Christ, I’m pathetic.’ He groans, thumping his head down into his folded arms on the table.

‘You’re not pathetic, Harry.’ Draco says in a small voice.

Harry raises his head slightly to meet Draco’s gaze with one eye.

‘Well for a start of course you feel that way, life hasn’t exactly been all carefree and sunshine so far, has it? But Harry, don’t you ever think for one second that you’re not loved––this whole marquee has been packed full all day of people who love you!’ Draco’s face flushes a charming shade of pink after his short outburst, but his eyes are set determinedly.

And he’s right, of course he’s right. Harry is loved. He’s loved, he’s loved, he’s loved. And how or for how long or in what way doesn’t really matter. Because he has people who love him, and he loves them. And he has no idea when that included Draco Malfoy but it does, and he can’t bring himself to be anything other than happy about that.

Harry lifts his head from the table and presses it instead into Draco’s neck. He startles for a moment, but then wraps his arms around Harry.

‘I told you I was being an idiot.’ Harry mumbles into the collar of Draco’s robes.

‘Yes, well some things never change.’

Harry sits up, a little embarrassed, finishing off the last of his firewhisky to quell away the feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

‘Did you want to get some air?’

Draco nods and rises, and they make their way out of the tent, meandering around the Burrow to sit by the pond.

Draco fold his knees up to his chest and rests his head on top of them as he lets the calm of the sleeping ducks, the dim light and the faint music wash over him.

Harry watches the peaceful scene and lets the last of his lingering thoughts of loneliness and half-aliveness float away for the evening. They won’t be gone forever, he knows, but for now he can bid them on their way and sit in the strange but utterly natural comfort of Draco.

‘It’s funny, don’t you think, to know someone for so long only to realise they mean something else to you entirely.’ Draco muses in a soft voice.

Harry’s heart skips a beat.

‘Draco?’

‘Mm?’ He hums sleepily.

‘Can I kiss you?’

Draco jolts, turning his face towards Harry, eyes wide, knees collapsing to the ground.

‘It’s may I.’ He whispers in a stunned voice.

‘What?’ Harry’s heart races, confused.

‘It’s ‘may I kiss you’ not ‘can I’’ Draco murmurs before leaning forwards and pressing his lips to Harry’s.

Harry would roll his eyes, but they’ve fluttered closed, so instead brings a hand up to weave through soft blonde hair and lets himself get lost in the feeling of gentle warm lips and the taste of firewhisky and cold fingers interlacing with his on the grass.


End file.
